


Team Spirit

by Creed Cascade (creedcascade)



Series: SNAFU Verse [1]
Category: Tour of Duty (1987)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Special Ops, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creedcascade/pseuds/Creed%20Cascade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lieutenant Johnny McKay is recruited to the special ops Team Viking. First story in the “SNAFU ‘Verse.” An AU where the characters of Tour of Duty have been fast forwarded to contemporary times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Team Spirit co-written with "Majorbrat".

Fort Bragg, North Carolina - 2008

Johnny McKay stood at attention in front of Colonel Brewster's desk. The man was going over some files and hadn't acknowledged his presence yet. Finally he grimaced at something and made a tsking noise. Brewster motioned to a straight-backed chair in front of his desk.

"Lieutenant McKay, please have a seat."

Johnny sat down and pulled off his hat, resting it in his lap. "Yes, sir."

"I was just going over your file, Lieutenant. Very entertaining reading."

Johnny couldn't help the smirk that passed over his lips. "Thank you, sir."

"Son, that wasn't a compliment." Brewster shook his head and tapped the file with the tip of his gold engraved pen. "Citations here for insubordination. Your evaluations note you have a problem with authority and a bad attitude. I also happen to know the scuttlebutt about you and that major's wife that didn't make the file. A lot of black marks against you, Lieutenant. Almost as many as citations for bravery in combat and high test scores. Long story short, when you're flying, you're top rate. When you're on the ground, you're a troublemaker. That about sum it up, McKay?"

Johnny's fingers dug into the brim of his hat. "Yes, sir."

"And this last mission you flew with Team Viking?"

"The mission was a success, sir."

"It was." Brewster looked down at the file. "What do you make of the team? Answer honestly."

"Honestly? In the field, I've never worked with better." Then Johnny snorted, "But that Goldman is one piece of work."

"Uh huh." Brewster wrote something in the file. "McKay, I've gone over your psych evaluations. Did you know you've been labelled as unlikely, or rather, unable to make any long term commitments with a woman?"

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Permission to speak plainly, sir?” When Brewster nodded his head, Johnny grinned. “I like playing the field.”

“Obviously,” Brewster answered, his mouth twitching in amusement. “But it also looks like it gets you into quite a bit of trouble.” He flipped to another page in the file. “A couple of fights here and there at the local bars ring any bells, Lieutenant?” When Johnny didn’t answer Brewster closed the file. “So long as you’re kept busy you seem to do just fine. Which is part of the reason I’ve asked you here today. I want to add you to my team.”

Eyes widening, Johnny sat back in his chair a bit. Team Viking was highly respected and even a bit feared among most of the men. They were a tight knit group, often keeping to themselves. They were known for getting the job done in a very short amount of time but not without having their fair share of casualties.

Brewster could see the younger man’s brain working it through. “Take a day or two to think it over, son. I know it’s not an easy decision to make though I’m sure the thrill seeker in you is already bouncing at the idea of getting in. A lot of this extracurricular skirt chasing will have to stop. Your whole way of life is going to change if you say yes. Don’t ask for details because I can’t tell you that. If you make the decision to come aboard, I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

"Sir, just one question. Math was never my strong point, but... two lieutenants? One team?"

Brewster's laughter filled the small room and he was smiling. "That's one point in your favour, McKay. You can do remedial math. I'm not asking you to lead my team. I'm asking you to join it. Lieutenant Goldman will be team leader. I'm more interested in your services in the transport department."

Johnny was taking this all in. He remembered working with Goldman in Iraq. The man had been effective and an able leader, but difficult didn’t even begin to describe the bull headed, temperamental officer. "Does that mean he's being promoted to captain?"

The loss of Team Viking's captain in the field was well known. They had lost Rusty and a few other good men during a classified mission. McKay was asking questions that others had asked before. Brewster had to fight to keep Myron as team leader and, even though he had discretion over the team, it had been one hell of a battle. The man was always one step away from pure insubordination. Finally he had won, especially after he argued Anderson with all his experience would be backing Goldman up. The only concession would be Goldman was on probation as team leader and wouldn't be promoted until they felt he was ready. It was more than a slap on the wrist. It was a downright fuck you to Goldman, but the man had stayed for the sake of the team.

"Lieutenant, this is a special ops team under my leadership. You're asking questions you don't have the authority to ask. Just think over my offer." When the boy didn't respond right away, Brewster growled at him, "Get the hell out of my office, McKay. And don't forget to salute."

++++++

“I don’t like it.”

Brewster sighed and shook his head. “I’m not asking you to like it or not. The point of fact is the man can fly just about anything you hand over to him. He’ll make a good addition to the team.”

“He’s a hot dog.”

Brewster laughed and watched as Myron stood staring out the window, tension lined in every bone of his body. “He’s a hot dog that saved your ass.” Perching on the edge of his desk, Brewster watched the younger man. “I wanted to give you fair warning. I know the two of you didn’t become fast bosom buddies during that mission. But he’s proved himself and I need a good pilot.”

Myron turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. “You have your choice from thousands of men, so why John McKay?”

“Brave, a little crazy, and he goes in when no one else would even dream of taking the chance. Not to mention he was the only pilot who didn’t come crying to me about the way he was treated when he had to work with you. That says something right there.”

Myron rolled his eyes. “Proves he’s crazier than the rest of them, end of story.”

Brewster smiled. “You’re lucky I allow you to talk to me like this when I’m your commanding officer.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, Colonel, and you know it. You don’t mind so much until we actually have a mission.”

"You're lucky you have an almost supernatural ability to get the job done, even if it means disobeying orders."

"Sir, I don't disobey your orders… I just bend them."

Brewster was watching Myron. The only thing the young man had inherited from his father was his temper. Carl had known Martin from way back. In their day, a black man and a Jew still stood out in the command. They respected and understood each other in a way others couldn't. So when he received a call from the retired general that his son was coming into his command, he wasn't surprised. It wasn't a call he would expect from most fathers, asking him to watch out for their son. Rather, Goldman senior had asked Carl to 'make a soldier and officer out of the army brat.' Myron had been called up out of the reserves to serve in Iraq. He wasn't too pleased at having to leave college and Martin felt the boy was an embarrassment to the name Goldman. As far as Carl was concerned, Myron had done everything to prove his father wrong. The young man was an excellent officer, even if he was rough around the edges.

Myron’s hand kept drifting into his pocket and Brewster knew his lieutenant was itching for a cigarette. He also knew the man was trying to quit and had an ongoing bet with his sergeant. And that was another reason Myron was such a good officer. Zeke Anderson was the perfect match for him. His calm demeanour and experience balanced out all of Myron's faults. Brewster considered the match to be one of the smartest decisions of his career.

"What does Anderson think of McKay?"

Myron's hands were getting twitchy and he pulled a Zippo from his pocket, rolling it around in his fingers. "I don't know, why don't you ask him?"

"Because he won't tell me what he really thinks unless he knows your stance. He never wants to contradict you. But I know damn well you've discussed McKay."

Myron’s face broke into a grin, a rather sinister one. “McKay has been the top of the discussion with the whole team.”

“I’m not asking about the team, just your sergeant.”

Brewster’s face was unreadable and Myron knew that meant back to business. With a sigh he flicked open the Zippo and then snapped it closed. “Anderson thinks he’s a good man. Recognizes that he’ll take risks to get people out who are under fire at all costs. But at the same time realizes that a risk taker can be a double-edged sword. People who live on an adrenaline rush tend to get themselves and others killed.”

Brewster merely nodded his head. He always valued the opinions of his team even if he ended up going against them. Knowing their opinions gave him a better insight into how they all functioned, as individuals and as a group. He’d been very careful with his selection and was proud to say that this was his greatest accomplishment. Of course, John McKay was going to have to find a way to fit himself in with the rest of them. It would be a bit of trial and error to start but he’d find a way to accommodate himself.

“How soon do you think you’ll hear back from him?” Myron made his way over and dropped onto one of the chairs, finger rubbing absently over where a small hole was starting to form on the knee of his jeans. The man hadn’t complained once that he’d been called in at all even though he was still dressed in old painting clothes.

"By tomorrow, I would suspect. I already know what his answer is going to be."

Myron slouched in the chair. "You wouldn't ask him if you thought he'd say no."

"No, I wouldn't have."

Myron ran his fingers over the engraving on the side of the lighter. It was the Minnesota Vikings logo. It was a gift from Zeke and something that still made him smile at the in-joke. Their team had such a delicate balance and he was afraid that McKay would upset that. Everyone was still on edge, even now that they were back stateside. He didn't kid himself that he was worst of all with Zeke visiting Katie. Zeke had separated from the rest of the team at their first touch down and left in his dress uniform. A week was the longest time he had ever been apart from Zeke since they first met.

Brewster must have been reading his nervousness because he gave Myron an understanding look. "He's going to be back soon."

"What?" Myron shifted in the chair, irritated that his commanding officer could read him that easily. "Who? I don't know who you're talking about."

"Anderson.” Brewster gave Myron an indulgent smile. “He'll be back tomorrow."

"Yeah. So what?"

Brewster looked amused even as Myron scowled at him. "Nothing."

Myron scuffed the floor with his sneakers and continued to fuss with the Zippo. "He had to see his kid."

Carl thought Myron might have worried a hole in that lighter if it wasn't made of metal, running his thumb over the surface obsessively. "I know. How’s the renovation coming?"

"Fine." Myron flicked the lighter top open and closed three times.

"Is Zeke going to help you with it when he gets back?"

Myron continued to scowl at Carl. "Yeah, and don't bring up the hammer again. Zeke thinks just because I hit my thumb once… that I'm not handy. He kept bitching that I should just stick to a paint brush." Carl didn't say a thing, but his eyes wandered to the paint stains on Myron's clothing. That irritated Myron even more. "Yes, yes… I'm painting, but not because he doesn't trust me with a hammer. It needs to get done."

Carl didn't hide the amusement on his face very well. "I'm sure it does." He gave a wave of his hand in dismissal. “You’re free to go, Lieutenant. I just wanted some of your input.”

Myron stood up then, patting down his pocket for the pack of smokes he kept there. He watched as Brewster raised an eyebrow at him. “I haven’t had one all day.”

“You’re supposed to be quitting.”

“I quit every night when I go to sleep.” Myron grinned as he dug the crumpled soft pack out of his shirt pocket. “I just restart in the morning when I wake up. Besides, no one likes a quitter… right, Colonel?”

Brewster raised both hands and shook his head. “Don’t get me in the middle of the battle with your sergeant. I’m staying clear of that one. Though I will say you’ll be much better off without the cancer sticks.”

“Like I haven’t heard that speech before. Trust me when I say I’m smoking considerably less than I was. That’s saying something in itself.” Myron’s other hand grabbed at the shades hanging from the collar of his shirt. After he slipped them on he snapped off a salute and headed out of the office.

Once he hit the door leading outside he flicked open the lighter, making sure to cup his hand around the flame. The strong smell of the fluid filled his nose as he lit the end of his cigarette, taking a long, deep drag of it. He clicked the lighter closed and stepped onto the sidewalk. That first initial drag had him coughing a bit, the testament to him not having had one all day, which was in fact true. His throat felt itchy and raw but after the next drag he was fine. He barely made it through the halfway point before he turned and flicked it into the gutter. “Can’t even enjoy a good smoke anymore. Oy.”

What made him even more annoyed was the thought that Zeke was coming back tomorrow and he had to wash all of his clothing to remove the smell of smoke . He missed Zeke and took out some of his frustration on the cigarette butt, stomping it even though it was floating in a light stream of water in the gutter. If Zeke didn't come home tomorrow like he promised, Myron would be ready to shoot someone. For now he just planned to spend the evening with a bottle of whiskey and the washing machine.

++++++

Myron turned his head to the side and groaned. When he opened his eyes, he saw a boot. "Zeke?" He turned his head so his cheek wasn't pressed against the carpet anymore, but looking up. Instead of Zeke, he was looking up at Doc. He blinked a few times and scowled at him, "Doc, what in the hell?"

"Uhm, hey, LT." Doc offered Myron his hand, but Myron waved it away.

Doc looked around at the pile of clothing that was scattered throughout the living room. Some of it was folded, but a lot of it was in a variety of piles. Myron was still lying on the floor, scrubbing his hands over his face. There was an empty bottle of Jack Daniel's by his head.

"Sarge called me," Doc rushed to explain. "You weren't answering your cell phone."

Myron sat up with a loud groan. He looked out the windows and saw it was dark. "What time is it?"

"Just after three in the morning."

If Doc was here, that meant that Zeke had to tell Doc where Zeke's copy of his keys was. "Damn it, why in the hell did he…"

"He was worried about you." Doc crouched down and while he didn't reach out, he was still checking Myron over. "You haven't been sleeping. If you mix that with alcohol…"

“I’m fine, Doc.” Myron groaned, forcing himself to sit up. His head swam and he reached up to rub at his eyes a few more times. Once he was properly awake, he blinked around at where he had been lying on the floor. “What’d he want?”

Doc stood up and moved around the bedroom. “Didn’t say. Just asked me to check on ya, make sure you were okay.” He leaned down and retrieved the cell phone from beside the dresser. He flicked it open and started punching buttons. “Called at least a dozen times. No wonder he couldn’t get you. You left it on vibrate again.”

Myron rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t he just call the house phone?”

Doc chuckled and tossed the cell to Myron who barely caught it. “You’re askin’ me? I got no clue. Might have to do with the fact that the phone cord…” Doc leaned down and held up said cord. “Ain’t exactly plugged in to where it’s supposed to be, either.”

Myron grimaced and got to his feet. “I need coffee.”

Doc gave an easy smile. “I’ll go make some. You call Sarge and see what he wanted.”

“I can make my own coffee,” Myron grumbled, taking a few unsteady steps before Doc beat him to the door.

“Sure thing, LT. But Sarge’ll be mighty pissed if ya put the call off any longer. I’ll put the keys back in the hiding spot.” With that, Doc slipped quietly from the room.

Myron stumbled over to the kitchen and found the coffee pot. Sometimes the electrical was iffy and if you plugged too many things in it would blow the breaker. He unplugged the toaster and plugged in the coffee machine.

Myron grabbed his cell phone and scrolled down to Zeke's number. Back stateside only a week, they both had new cell phones for the unit, but these were their personal cell phones. There were some things Myron didn't like talking to Zeke about on a government owned phone.

It was on the second ring when Myron heard a staticy, "Myron?"

"You sent Doc over here."

"You weren't answering your cell."

Myron opened a cupboard and slammed the canister of coffee on the counter. "Maybe I didn't want to talk to you."

The good-natured laughter on the other end made Myron's stomach lurch. God, he missed that man. "You left it on vibrate again, huh?"

"Shut up." Myron opened the canister and found it was empty. "When are you coming home?"

"That's why I was trying to call you…" There was a slight hesitation on the other line.

Myron felt sick. "Are you staying longer?"

"No, I caught an earlier flight. I'm in a cab back from the airport."

“Can you stop and get some coffee?” Myron gave the empty container a shove in irritation.

“Yeah, missed ya, too, kid,” came Zeke’s soft yet amused reply from the other end. “Did you check the cabinet?”

“Well, yeah.”

“The other cabinet?”

Myron frowned, tilting his head to hold the phone as he reached up to open the second door. There on the top shelf was another canister of coffee. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Not lately but you can tell me when I get there. We’re about fifteen minutes out now. They’re not expecting me at the base until around two tomorrow afternoon.” Zeke’s phone gave another burst of static. “Drink up and I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

Myron grinned and said goodbye. Placing the phone on the counter he reached up and pulled down the coffee, scooping the grounds quickly into the filter before getting it started. He made a mad dash into the living room, grabbing up trash and clothes until it was as clean as could be with no more time. He then dashed into the bedroom, grabbed the ashtray and ran for the bathroom. He dumped it down the toilet, flushed it, and then stashed the ashtray in the back bottom of the closet behind the laundry basket. With new sheets and comforter in hand he made short work of the bed and clutter in there.

He’d barely made it into the kitchen when lights flooded his living room window. Zeke’s voice could be heard in the quiet outside and Myron felt his heart settle down deep into his stomach.

Myron sniffed his shirt and realized it was still the same one from today. It smelt faintly of smoke. And what smelt faintly of smoke would smell like he’d rolled in a tobacco field to Zeke. He quickly pulled it off and lifted up a couch cushion, throwing it underneath. He grabbed a blue t-shirt off the floor and sniffed it. Making a face, he threw it back and grabbed a green from another pile. Myron was just pulling the t-shirt over his head when Zeke walked into the room. His dog tags got tangled around his neck and an elbow half stuck in the armhole.

"Um, hey." Myron managed to pull the t-shirt down with no grace whatsoever.

Zeke was standing there in his civilian clothes, but had his rucksack over his shoulder and cup of Starbucks coffee in the other hand. Myron was so used to seeing Zeke in his fatigues that it seemed strange to see him in jeans and black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off.

Zeke simply stood there smiling at him and dropped the rucksack on the floor. He held up the coffee and jiggled it a bit. "I bought you coffee."

Myron took a single step forward, but no more. It didn't make any sense, but it felt like if he got too close it would all come crashing down on him. "Don't spill it."

Only Myron could be this contrary. The kid drank himself into a stupor while he was gone, but once he was here he looked like he wanted to run. Using it like bait, Zeke flipped the lid off of the coffee, sniffing at the steam. He made pleased sounds and took a small sip. "It's good. Nice 'n' hot."

Myron watched as Zeke closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of good strong coffee. When the man opened his eyes to look at him, it was right over the rim of the coffee cup. “Want it?”

It took everything Myron had in him not to groan so he merely nodded his head, took a few more steps forward, and then reached out his hand. Zeke’s fingers brushed against his for a moment as the cup was handed over. Eyes still locked with his sergeant’s, he took a cautionary sip, loving the way the full-bodied flavour of coffee exploded across his tongue and burned a trail down his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy it and steady himself. He could hear Zeke chuckling at him and he opened his eyes, giving a wayward smile. “I made a pot of coffee in the kitchen.”

“Knew you’d enjoy the Starbucks more. I’ll drink that pot, you work on that,” Zeke answered. “So, what’s the latest news?”

Myron started into the kitchen, throwing open the door to the fridge to see about making Zeke something to eat. He frowned at the state of the empty shelves inside. “Sure you wanna talk about this tonight? Might be better to wait until the morning.” He moved over to the cabinets and started pulling them open one by one. All he had up there that didn’t require cooking were a few small Styrofoam containers of ready to go cereal. He jumped a bit when Zeke’s arms slid around his waist.

"We can do anything you want." Zeke's voice was low and amused, but he kept his arms secure around Myron's waist.

He had always been free with his touch when it came to Myron. It had been slow going at the beginning, but as the trust built between them so had the touching. Simple things. They walked close together, shoulders often touching. Zeke liked to pat Myron on the shoulder or squeeze his arm. It was something he did with his friends, but Myron was sometimes apprehensive. His nervousness had grown as their feelings grew but, despite his anxiety, Myron still seemed to crave Zeke's touch. Now that they were stateside he was going to have to get Myron used to a different kind of touch. When they were someplace private and secure, he had every intention of touching Myron as much as possible.

They had met in Iraq and never been together stateside yet. They were used to guarded emotions and actions. Being together like this now still had to be hidden, but in privacy they had more freedom than in Iraq. It wasn’t going to be easy, but Zeke was a patient man.

Zeke's hand came up and ghosted over Myron's temple. "You haven't been sleeping." It wasn't a question, but rather a statement.

Myron's cheek muscle twitched a little as he felt the soft caress. In a war zone, they hadn't dared to allow this level of intimacy. "I slept."

Zeke pulled Myron in closer and kept touching his temple. The boy looked like he was ready to either punch Zeke or kiss him. Zeke thought Myron wore the look well. He kept up the steady caress knowing they were going to have to take this slow. They had so much against them already and Zeke wasn't going to lose Myron. He wouldn't lose him because of divisions of rank, age, family or anything else.

Zeke leaned in even closer and even though he wanted to kiss Myron's lips, he kissed his temple. "You have a migraine again? Is that why you were drinking?"

Myron started to relax, letting Zeke take more of his weight. “No… s’not why. Just… hated that you were gone and then this whole thing with McKay…”

Zeke chuckled, nuzzling along Myron’s ear. “Still all riled up about that, huh?”

Leaning back into Zeke’s shoulder, Myron turned his head just enough to look at him. “There is that. The colonel called me in today. He’s extended an invitation for that chopper jock to join up with the team.”

Eyes widening, Zeke gave Myron a gentle squeeze. “Well now, can’t say that would be a completely awful thing. Boy knows how to fly and he’s a mechanics whiz.”

“I don’t like him.”

Zeke loosened his grip just enough to take a few steps back, tugging Myron with him. “You’ll feel better about it in the morning.

Myron blinked sleepily for a moment. “But the coffee…”

End Part 1.


	2. Chapter 2

"I’ll make a fresh pot when we wake up,” Zeke soothed, easily moving backwards towards Myron’s bedroom. “I’ll even cook ya pancakes in the morning. I’ve had a long flight and I’m tired. Wanna sleep.”

Every spare moment in Iraq they felt like eyes were on them, even when they were on R&R. In a country like that, one slip and they could wind up dead. After a few months, it had become apparent to each of them there was something more than friendship between them. But it went unspoken. It was seven months from the day before they shared their first stolen kiss. It had never progressed much beyond that. There was no time and it was never safe. Myron knew it was love. Anything else couldn't hurt that much.

He wanted this, but he felt like a failure for being relieved Zeke just wanted to sleep. Zeke had left early from seeing his only child to be home with him and here Myron was chickening out.

"We could…" Myron insisted and gestured absently with his hand.

"Myron, don't be an ass," Zeke chuckled and tugged him into the bedroom. "We're both beat and you smell like an ashtray."

The guilt was replaced instantly by indignation. "What? I do not…"

"Don't lie to me, kid. I know you didn't quit yet." When Myron glared at him, he patted his cheek. "But you've tryin', so that counts for something. I missed you."

That simple admission was enough to stop the defensive posturing. He leaned forward, arms snaking around Zeke’s shoulders. “Missed you, too.” He brushed his lips over Zeke’s before turning his head to rub his cheek against Zeke’s. “Hate that I had to give you up even for a night to a girl.”

Zeke chuckled. “My little girl.” He walked them backwards, dropping quick soft kisses on Myron’s lips. “Bed. We both need to sleep.” His fingers tickled along the waistline of Myron’s sweats, sliding up beneath the tee shirt. Myron just kind of hummed as Zeke pulled the shirt over his head. “You’re practically falling asleep right now.”

Myron reached out for Zeke but had his hands grabbed and held behind him as Zeke leaned in to lick his way inside his mouth. They stood kissing for a few minutes and Myron suddenly realized they were lying on the bed when he opened his eyes again. He watched as Zeke winked and pulled away, stripping down to his boxers before giving Myron a poke to get under the covers.

The last thing he remembered before finally falling asleep was Zeke pressing a kiss to the back of his neck as he spooned up behind him.

++++++

Myron had some definite ideas of how he wanted to wake up and none of them involved both his and Zeke's unit cell phones going off simultaneously. He fumbled for his phone on the bedside and opened it with a curt, "What?"

"LT, it's Percell. You'd better get down here ta Roo 'n' Taylor's place."

Myron glanced over to see that Zeke had grabbed his cell phone and was up going into the other room to answer it. "Short of being deployed, Percell, I can't see any goddamn reason why I should."

Myron could hear shouting in the background. "Cause I think they're really gonna kill each other this time, LT." There was a loud crashing sound and Danny swore, "Aw, shit. You'd better make it quick. Doc's tryin' to get a hold of the Sarge, too."

"Knock them out if you have to. I don't care. I just don’t want the MPs involved in our business. I'm on my way."

Myron snapped the cell phone shut. He had been expecting something like this since they’d gotten stateside. Zeke had warned them that the men would take some time to reacclimatize and would want to blow off some steam. None of them were particularly close to their families and no one had any long-term girlfriends or wives. It was why they were in this unit. They were each other's family. While some of the men had housing on the base, the unofficial unit hang out was Roo and Taylor's place. It was too big for them to afford by themselves, but Colonel Brewster helped subsidize it. On any given day if Team Viking wasn't deployed, they were likely to be found there.

Zeke came into the room as Myron was starting to pull on his paint stained jeans. "Sounds like all hell's broke loose with the boys."

"Oh, they have no idea what hell's like until they just woke me up."

The ride there was tense, Myron visibly not happy at the fact of being woken up. Zeke pulled up in front of the house and immediately killed the lights. Doc was sitting on the front step smoking a cigarette and holding a bag of frozen peas against his cheek.

“What the hell happened, Doc?” Zeke rushed over, pulling the bag away to look at the swollen and darkening spot.

“Tried to break it up and walked into Taylor’s fist, Sarge.” Doc winced when Zeke pressed his fingers lightly against it. “They had a couple of girls come back here with them tonight. Some pissing match got started and before I knew it they were attacking each other like a pack of mongrels.”

Myron groaned as he heard a voice float out from the confines of the house. “Any of the neighbours said anything yet?”

Doc shook his head. “Nah. S’been quiet except for what’s going on in there. Think they’re winding down though. Haven’t heard anything else get smashed in a bit.”

Zeke shook his head and sighed. “Turned out into an all out brawl?”

“Yeah… worse than last time.”

Zeke rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He turned to Myron and motioned at the door. “We’d better get in there. Last time they nearly levelled the place fighting over a bag of Doritos.”

The place the boys rented was a run down house off base far enough from any neighbours to give them privacy if things got out of hand. Zeke didn’t knock, but opened the screen door that had lost its screen during the last big fight. Myron was on his heels and watched as Zeke stormed into the living room. Taylor and Ruiz were rolling around on the floor taking half-hearted swings at each other. Percell was sitting in a beanbag chair in the corner mopping at his bloody nose with the hem of his tee shirt.

Zeke swooped down and grabbed Taylor by the back of his shirt and dragged Ruiz away from him the same way. “Break it up, boys!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. Like puppies, he shook them. “What’s the matter with you two?”

Ruiz kicked out with his foot and only managed to knock himself more off balance. Zeke gave him a shove into the old dilapidated couch and moved Taylor further back.

“He started it!” they both yelled out at the same time.

“I’m ending it!” came Zeke’s shout. “Do you understand the meaning of the word downtime? You think I want to get calls in the middle of the night because the two of you can’t behave?” Zeke let go of Taylor and threw his hands up. “You wanna say anything, LT?”

Myron stood there with his arms crossed. “Will it even matter?”

Zeke grunted, moving over to where Percell was sitting. He crouched down in front of the man and took a look at his lip. “No busted teeth I hope?”

Percell grinned and shook his head. “I’m good, Sarge. Doc checked me over already.”

Zeke nodded and stood up, talking to Ruiz and Taylor again. “Seems to me like every time this happens you gotta go and drag the other boys right into it.”

“Sorry, Sarge,” came Ruiz’s mournful reply. “It’s just been a rough day and…”

“Still no excuse for all of this,” Myron said, stepping forward.

"I didn't mean to hit Percell," Ruiz said immediately once Myron was staring him down. "I was trying to hit Taylor."

"That doesn't make it any better." Myron glared at Ruiz, who tried to sink further down into the couch. "You shouldn't be trying to hit anyone." Ruiz mumbled something under his breath and Myron narrowed his eyes. "What was that?"

Ruiz wiped at a cut on his face with the back of his hand. "I said… he was making eyes at my girl."

"I was not! She was fugly!" Taylor tried to get back up, but Zeke shoved him back down.

Myron wanted to hit both of them himself. "Ruiz, what was the girl's name?"

"Excuse me, LT?"

"What. Was. Her. Name?"

Ruiz licked his lips and tried to remember. "Ah… I don't know."

Zeke used the opportunity to smack both Taylor and Ruiz on the back of the head. "What the LT here is tryin' to demonstrate is that girl wasn't worth gettin' in a fight with your friend over. You can't even remember that girl's name. They're not important. Your friends… the team is."

Taylor rolled his eyes but visibly started to let the tension go in his body. “It’s just… we’re all on edge.”

“Then take it to the gym. Do some boxing or something. We don’t need to keep getting calls like this.” Myron took a step closer, moving in on the two of them. “The neighbours might not be close but you do have them. We don’t need any attention like this drawn on us. Colonel Brewster would fucking flip on all of us and we’ll be forced to live on base under his watchful eye. I don’t think anyone here wants that, do you?” He looked from one to the other. Both men uttered a ‘no,’ not daring to look Myron in the eye.

The door opened and Doc stepped in, bag of peas held loosely in one fist dangling at his side. His face was starting to develop a nice deep bruise. He looked around at everyone and managed a grin. “I was expecting more blood, honestly.”

“More blood letting means I would have to train new morons. I thought I was starting to get these housebroken, but apparently not.” Myron was watching Danny watch Doc. If he could place a bet, he would guess that Doc tried to get in between Taylor and Ruiz. That would have been a mistake and then he got hit. Then that’s when Percell would have gotten involved. “Did you at least give as good as you got, Doc?”

Doc squished the bag, smiling and nodded towards Taylor. “He’ll feel it tomorrow.”

Zeke grinned at Doc and clapped him on the shoulder. “Atta boy.”

“Hey!” Taylor’s mouth hung open a bit. “How come we get in shit for fighting and he gets praised. It’s racism, I tell ya.”

Ruiz smacked Taylor before anyone else could. He recognized it for the joke it was. “Cause Doc’s Doc, you idiot. They didn’t pat Percell on the head.” Ruiz rubbed his jaw from where Percell had landed a decent punch. He shook his head and stretched his jaw. “Damn, Danny. I’m surprised I’m not chewing on my own teeth.”

“Lucky you still got a dick,” Percell answered, shaking his head. “All this crap over some stupid tramp that couldn’t even hold her liquor. Makes no damn sense at all.” He rubbed a hand over his face as Doc knelt down next to him. “Just a flesh wound.”

Doc rolled his eyes. “C’mon, need to flush it out with some Listerine anyway just to be safe and get ya cleaned up a bit.”

“Think it’s safe to leave them on their own?” Zeke asked.

Myron covered his face with his hands. “They gotta learn sometime.” He paused a moment. “Don’t they?”

Zeke turned and threw a glare at Taylor and Ruiz. “Get this place cleaned up. I’ll be by to make sure it’s all back to rights later on. I want it spotless, got me?”

“Yes, Sarge,” they both answered in unison.

“And I better not get any more calls for the next month over anything that happens here or you’ll all be in some serious shit.”

"Yes, sir," Ruiz said and ushered Taylor towards the kitchen with a shove. Taylor glared at him but didn't say anything. Zeke just shook his head in amusement at the two. They were best friends and more than once Taylor had been heard saying to Ruiz, 'Bros before Hos.' Almost anything with a pair of breasts turned their heads. Zeke waited to see if another fight would start up again, but soon heard the clank of empty beer bottles being picked up from inside the kitchen.

Myron watched Doc fussing over Danny. Doc had a first aid kit on the bar in the living room and a bottle of Listerine. The bathroom was off limits since one of Ruiz and Taylor's girls had left their supper all over it. Doc was washing the dried blood away from under Danny's nose. Danny was taking it all patiently, even the touches to his shoulder or side of his face.

Myron leaned over and whispered to Zeke, "I thought you had a talk with Doc."

"I did." Zeke shrugged. "He's never out of line in the field, but we're home."

"But, Percell…"

"Is a big boy, LT. It's between them."

Team Viking was made up of soldiers who, for a variety of reasons, had been labelled unlikely to form any long-term commitments. They got the high-risk missions and the brass didn't have to worry about keeping any top-secret information from wives or girlfriends. Doc’s tendencies were tolerated as long as he didn't tell and, more importantly, he was simply a genius with anything technological.

Since Percell got off the drugs, Myron had noticed more and more how Doc was around him. Nothing overt unless you knew the man. Touches, a sincere smile and laugh that were just for Danny weren’t uncommon. But the way Percell sometimes tensed when Doc touched his arm or the way Danny watched after the female nurses made Myron wonder. Something was weird between those two.

Myron scrubbed a hand through his hair, making sure to keep his voice low. "I don't like it."

“Not our business, LT. Don’t want anyone prying in ours, now do we?” Zeke raised an eyebrow. “Just let ‘em be for now. I just want to go back to bed. Too early for this kinda stuff.”

Myron gave a weary nod and took one more look around the room. When he spoke, it was loud enough for everyone to hear. “What a mess.”

Doc looked up and gave a smile. “We’ll get it cleaned up. Don’t worry. Taylor and Ruiz, though, they can take care of the bathroom. Smells worse than Taylor’s cookin’ in there.”

“Hey, I heard that!” came the shouted reply from the kitchen.

“Good!” Doc yelled back. “Why don’t you do somethin’ about it then before it gets all dried up and crusty in there? I think she got some in the floor heater vent, too. That’ll be a bitch when it gets cold and you turn it on and it reheats…”

Myron groaned and shook his head. “That’s disgusting, Hockenberry.”

Doc shrugged. “Never hurts to make sure they get it cleaned up.”

“On that note, we’re leaving.” Myron cleared his throat and yelled out his goodbyes to everyone in the kitchen. He did pause long enough to give Doc a once over. “Make sure you take care of yourself, too. That’s looking pretty ugly.”

And he swore Percell did it just to screw with his head, the man stood up and laid a hand on the back of Doc's neck. "Don't worry. I'll take care of him, LT."

The smile Doc gave Danny must have been the reason Danny did it. Because it was nearly blinding and Danny curled his fingers around Doc's neck, giving him a gentle shake. Doc's voice was pleased and soft, "You can crash at my place since this place is a wreck."

Danny gave Doc's neck another squeeze and ruffled his hair before letting go. He gave Doc a half smile and looked down. "Um, yeah. Don't feel like going back to the base."

Myron looked at both of them. "Stay out of trouble."

"Of course, LT." Doc looked like he had gotten exactly what he wanted and waved at Myron before snapping the first aid kit shut.

Myron left the house still feeling uneasy. He hated not being able to figure out things, especially his men. Zeke was right behind him and when they were halfway up the walk Myron turned. "This isn't good. Our team's just barely holding it together and Brewster wants to throw McKay into the mix?"

“He’s got his reasons. Hasn’t steered us wrong in the past either. Last time I checked the boys weren’t all that thrilled having you join up. Cut the man a little slack, Myron. Might manage to find that he’s not as bad as you expect.” Zeke opened up the cab of the truck and hopped in.

“Yeah,” Myron muttered, “He’ll probably be worse.”

Johnny looked down at the folders in front of him, eyes wide. “All of this?”

Brewster nodded. “All of it. The top three files are what you need to know about the other men, get you caught up. The next two are recent missions that you need to be apprised of so you know what you’re getting into. The bottom one is all the paperwork you need to go through and fill out. Basic stuff, really.”

Johnny’s couldn’t help but stare, all but the last folder had to be at least close to two inches thick. “This is a lot of paperwork.”

Brewster smiled. “Like I said, just the basics. I’ll arrange for a team meeting tomorrow morning. Give you a chance to meet up with them again.”

"I'm looking forward to it, sir." He glanced down at the files in his hands again and sighed, "’Cause that means I'll be done with this."

"Are you complaining, McKay?"

Johnny deadpanned, "Never."

"Good." Carl motioned towards the files. "And make sure you dot your I's and cross your T's on your paperwork. If you don't, the pencil pushers will stab you with their pencils." When Johnny groaned, Brewster laughed. "Have fun with that."

Johnny watched Brewster leave the room and opened the top file, skimming over the briefings on the men who made up Team Viking. At first it seemed rather random. There was surely more intelligent and ambitious men. But as Johnny got deeper into the files on the enlisted men, he started to see bits that stood out. Ruiz had heavy weapons training and spoke English, a slew of Spanish dialects and had the ability to learn enough of any language for the team to get by. Taylor was an explosives expert and had training with heavy machinery. Percell was a sniper and trained in a scarily long list of weapons. There was a member named Johnson who was on temporary leave to visit his sick mother back home. Johnson seemed to relay information from the base to the team when they were out on a mission.

He stopped and reread the last briefing on Francis Hockenbury. He remembered the quiet man from the mission as unremarkable. But reading his file, the man was not only the team medic, but also a computer expert. The one thing that stood out was the line that stated: 'Specialist Hockenbury was a prisoner of war for five weeks in Iraq before being liberated by Team Viking.' That gave him new respect for the man and the team.

Looking over Sergeant Anderson's file was almost like reading over a real life Rambo's resume. He wondered how the man had time to father a child, as the only man with an ex-wife on the team, between serving overseas not only in the current conflict in Iraq, but all the way back to Desert Storm. Johnny was impressed to see the soldier had entered the army at seventeen years old and worked his way up to sergeant first class from a grunt. He had done more tours of duty than anyone Johnny knew and to top it off, the man was an expert in hand-to-hand combat. Anderson was also a goddamn boxer.

Then there was Myron's file. Johnny assumed he got the posting because his father pulled a few strings. He was definitely proven wrong. The name Goldman may have had someone keeping a close eye on him but his own file had plenty in there to be proud of. Excellent marks from his time done in the reserves, an impressive list of courses from the university he’d been attending until he’d been sent to Iraq. There was a whole list of commendations and several medals listed for his first tour served overseas before Brewster scooped him up and brought him on board Team Viking. It was quite apparent to Johnny that Myron had joined the reserves just to spite his father. He’d climbed the ladder all on his own, though. It was obvious he didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps and yet he’d stepped up and gone above and beyond when it was asked of him.

There was a smaller file inserted in with Myron’s, almost as if it was a small side note. Johnny looked at the picture of the man before continuing into the report. Captain Rusty Wallace was the original team leader, killed in combat. His own list of medals and commendations was enough to make Johnny rethink why Brewster would want someone like him on the team. From the looks of it, the man had been killed in combat, body never even having been recovered. Another testament as to how big a job it was for this particular team. Myron had replaced Rusty not more than two months after his death.

Johnny slipped the picture back into the folder and turned back to look at the file of Goldman again. The picture must have been taken before his deployment to Iraq. Goldman looked younger and less intense. And the other thing that was different than Johnny remembered was Goldman was clean-shaven. He tapped the photograph and smirked, making a mental note to hound Goldman about that later. Goldman looked about twelve years old in that picture, not the gruff and battle weary lieutenant Johnny recalled. At the memory, Johnny's stomach did a little flop he didn't like so he closed the file.

The last file was a list and brief on the men, with only code names, who had worked with Team Viking in the past. Some of the men were listed as injured, or more disturbing, dead. Others were men who were brought in for special missions as needed.

++++++

"Tell me why you bought this place again when you can't safely swing a hammer?"

"I can swing a hammer," Myron grumbled as he continued to fumble with the lock on the front door. "And it's an investment."

Zeke chuckled and laid his hand on the small of Myron's back. "You can swing a hammer, but you can't hit a nail. You bought this place sight unseen."

When Myron felt the warmth of Zeke's hand, he fumbled with the key again. "I saw it on the Internet."

Zeke grabbed the keys from Myron, but kept his other palm flat against Myron's lower back. He jiggled the key a little and popped the door open. "You bought a lemon."

"No, I bought a home," he huffed and grabbed the keys back. He'd bought the house over the Internet while they were still in Iraq. The idea of returning to a new base and having to suffer military housing was not appealing. After growing up on bases or military schools all his life, he wanted someplace of his own. "It has character."

“It has serious issues,” Zeke replied, following in behind Myron.

“Yeah, so it’s a lot like me then.” Myron chuckled and dropped the keys on the countertop. “Didn’t think they’d manage to get the place squared away but they did.” He was already on autopilot, making his way straight to the coffee pot. “Doc’s face is a sight and Danny looks like he had botox done on his lips but at least…”

He froze mid-word when Zeke’s lips pressed to the side of his neck and arms wrapped around his waist. Hands falling from where they’d been going to open the cabinets, Myron curled his fingers around the edge of the countertop instead, trying to find an anchor to hold onto. Zeke’s arms held him tightly, pulling Myron tighter to him as he kissed and nibbled along Myron’s throat.

Myron froze, feeling Zeke kissing and touching him like this. There was nothing he wanted more, but they had conditioned themselves for so long to hide that it was hard to accept it. Since their first passionate kiss, they’d had to learn to control their lust. Being guarded was second nature. There was no danger of being caught in this place, but that didn’t seem to register with Myron. He still had that ominous feeling they would get caught.

Myron’s fingers dug into the counter even more. “Zeke…”

“Hush now, Myron,” Zeke whispered and kissed Myron’s cheek. “I’m not sayin’ no anymore. No reason to wait anymore.” Zeke’s hands began a slow massage where they rested at Myron’s waist, trying hard to work away some of the tension and fear the kid was putting out like a broadcasting signal. He worked his lips along Myron’s jaw line, little kisses and nips until he was breathing in Myron’s ear again. He could feel Myron shudder, his guard still up but failing him quickly. Hands slid up to tug Myron’s shirt free from his pants, soft warm skin so alive beneath his finger tips as he glided them around to lay across Myron’s stomach. He could feel the muscles jump, texture of the skin changing as Myron broke out in goosebumps. “Like touching you. Been too long since I last got ta touch you without rushing it.”

Myron moaned, body bowing forward as if in submission. Zeke knew different. Myron wasn’t one for allowing anyone into his personal space. Hell, Zeke had to fight his way into it almost every time. This was Myron trying to hold himself together, trying to keep a tight rein on his emotions. Zeke wouldn’t stand for it. Not here. Not now. This was what needed to happen and he’d be damned if either one of them had to wait any longer.

Zeke started to hitch up Myron’s t-shirt, touching the warm skin beneath. His fingertips caressed over the fine trail of hair on Myron’s abs, teasing down into the waistband of his low-slung pants. Myron was moaning and breathing loudly. There was nothing more that Zeke wanted to do but tell Myron that it was okay to cry out. But letting go of the war was easier said than done. The danger of what they were doing was always there. Their love violated the rules. It was forbidden.

Zeke tugged on Myron’s dog tags, feeling the body warmed metal. He raised them to his own lips, kissing them gently. He lifted them to Myron’s lips next, tracing over the bottom lip first. Myron’s lips were still chapped from the dry desert heat.

“Open…” Zeke breathed the word quietly and slipped the dog tags between Myron’s lips. “Keep ‘em there. Suck on ‘em if you gotta get too loud.”

Myron hummed in the back of his throat, fingers on the counter loosening their grip. He let himself be manipulated, Zeke moving him back to rest against him again. He wasn’t sure what do with himself so he let his hands rest along Zeke’s arms. He had to keep reminding himself to breathe as Zeke’s lips ghosted along his neck and face. His breath hitched again when Zeke’s hands slid underneath his tee shirt again. Zeke’s fingers were sliding around under the waistband now. He could feel each breath Zeke took against his skin, could feel the strong, muscled chest pressed tightly against his back. It caused his own breath to come more rapidly.

“I know what you want…” Zeke ran his hand down Myron’s ribs to his hip. His fingers pushed down Myron’s pants just a little to linger over the hipbone. “What we both want.” Zeke leaned in and kissed the back of Myron’s neck. His tongue snaked out and lapped gently at the hairline. Sometimes he thought what Myron would look like with his hair grown out, but he loved the boy’s regulation cut. Kissing down Myron’s spine, Zeke whispered against the skin. “I’ll make sure we get it, but…” He nipped at the hollow between the neck and shoulder, careful not to leave a permanent mark. “But, we gonna take the edge off now.”

Myron could barely manage words at that point, so the strangled “Wha…” that came out erupted into a full fledged groan when Zeke suddenly slipped down his body, moving to place himself between Myron and the counter…on his knees. He looked down, breath catching in his throat again and watched as Zeke nuzzled the obvious bulge in the front of his pants with the tip of his nose before closing his mouth over denim. Heat registered quickly enough as Zeke sealed his lips against his jeans and forced hot air out and into the clothing. The next thing he felt was Zeke’s tongue pressing hard against him. He groaned, hands slapping back down on the countertop to keep from falling over. Hips twitching a bit, he fought the urge to start thrusting against Zeke’s mouth.

End Part 2.


	3. Chapter 3

Zeke pulled back for a moment, admiring the wet patch of saliva-slicked jeans. “How’s about we get these down?” Zeke looked up into Myron’s very wide and darkened eyes as he reached out to drag the zipper slowly down.

Myron flicked the dog tags in his mouth with his tongue. He sucked on them, forcing himself not to moan too loudly. Zeke massaged him through the moist denim with one hand, while with the other hand, his fingers started to tease down the zipper.

“You’ve been wanting this bad,” Zeke chuckled, his voice low and raw. “Wanting what only I can give you.” When Myron made an irritated sound and pushed his hips out, Zeke chuckled again. “What you let me give you.”

Zeke pushed aside the jeans and worked his hand inside Myron’s black BVD’s. He grasped Myron’s cock, just letting it rest in his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He ran his thumb over the tip, then rubbed it against the warm cotton.

“I know you think about this when you take care of yourself.” Zeke slowly started to caress the cock in his hand. “All alone. Thinkin’ about your sergeant on his knees.”

Myron gave a whimper, biting down hard on the tags in his mouth but the sound seemed to echo around the space of the kitchen. He bowed his head, forcing his eyes closed for a moment. Little sparks of colour seemed to spread out behind his eyelids as he squeezed them tightly shut against the scene taking place. He shivered at the feel of his erection being released into the air. He wasn’t prepared for the wet touch of tongue that seemed to burn his skin. Eyes flying open as well as his mouth, he gasped out loud, dog tags falling to rest against his chest, completely forgotten in the moment. “Please…”

Zeke’s tongue was doing damning things to his self-control. Every breath in seemed to burn. Every breath out was like dying. He gripped the countertop hard again with his fingers, watching as the skin stretched and turned white from the pressure.

Myron wished he could lose himself forever in that moist, teasing heat. He wanted this to last longer than the few times they had risked even this act in Iraq. But it had been so long and Zeke was good. Almost embarrassingly soon Myron was spurting into Zeke’s mouth, feeling the flick of a wicked tongue. His fist slammed down onto the counter from frustration and intense pleasure.

Zeke kept sucking him and softly stroked his hand over Myron’s hip. He knew exactly how to read the boy. Myron always wanted more. That was one of the things Zeke loved about him. He let Myron’s cock slip from his mouth. With two hands on Myron’s hips, he pushed him back and kept them there as he stood up. Zeke gentled Myron with a quick, but passionate kiss. He noticed that Myron’s lips were swollen from worrying the dog tags.

Zeke was so hard he hurt. He broke away from the kiss and turned Myron around. He manoeuvred the younger man until he was bent over, pushing the jeans down to reveal his ass. Zeke quickly wrestled with his own zipper and freed his cock. He grabbed it, ran the tip of his cock along the crack of Myron’s ass. “Not gonna fuck you now. Just gonna to give us both a taste.”

Myron moaned low in his throat, leaning forward to brace himself more against the counter. The muscles in his arms strained to hold him upright, body still lax from his own orgasm. He shuddered a bit when Zeke’s other hand moved around his waist to lie low on his stomach, fingers teasing the fine trail of hair there.

Zeke’s mouth closed over the back of Myron’s neck, teeth scraping lightly before flicking his tongue out to taste at the sweat there. Other hand going to the counter to fold over top of Myron’s, he started to rock his hips forward. He could feel Myron tense for a moment before suddenly going lax, head hanging forward and groaning at the feel of it all. “Like that?”

Myron’s only answer was a non-word.

Zeke’s pace was slow as he thrust his cock along the crack of Myron’s ass. “You didn’t answer me, Myron. You like this?”

They never spoke about it, but Myron knew Zeke had more than a kink for a lifer and self declared grunt to be dominating his superior officer. And Myron would never admit it, but there was a thrill to let Zeke do this. Through gritted teeth, Myron hissed, “I won’t…”

“Just one lil’ word, LT,” Zeke whispered and nipped at the back of his neck again. “Say, yes. Think how good this feels ‘n’ how much better it will be when I’m deep inside you.”

Myron tensed as Zeke’s cock slipped over his hole, his whole body giving a full out shudder at the feel of it. He wanted it, badly, but his mind was still very much at war with the desire for something like that. Lifting one hand from the counter, he reached back to grab at Zeke’s thigh, pulling his lover that much closer.

Zeke chuckled, increasing his pace. “Not yet, huh? Don’t you worry, Myron, I’ll get you there eventually.” He gave a few bites along Myron’s shoulder blade. Releasing his hand from Myron’s on the counter, he brought his hand up to his mouth, giving his thumb a good thorough suck before slipping it down between them. Still riding Myron, he let the tip of his thumb press against the quivering hole he found there. Myron grunted, hips jerking forward but Zeke merely pulled him back, pressing the digit higher inside of him. “Feels so good, baby,” he whispered, moving his mouth to Myron’s ear. He flicked the lobe with his tongue. “When it happens you’re so gonna love it. Hold me nice and tight in that virgin hole of yours. Be callin’ my name out until you think you can’t take it anymore. But you’ll take it.” Zeke gave a ragged thrust, groaning. “You’ll take it because I’ll tell you to take it.”

Myron’s fist smashed down onto the counter again. Despite having just come, his cock was half hard from Zeke’s words and caresses. “Don’t… call me baby.” He fought the urge to push and grind back against Zeke. He knew Zeke had just used the sickening endearment to piss him off. “I swear, if you ever… call me that again…”

Zeke chuckled, but groaned low. He’d called Myron just that to bait him and the boy hadn’t disappointed. He loved Myron in a rant and all worked up. His fingers dug into Myron’s hips and pushed him down onto the surface of the counter. “Love that filthy mouth of yours.” He thrust harder, wanting more than to just push in deep. “Take it.”

“Fuck you,” Myron spat out even though his hips pistoned back and forth. Zeke’s laugh grated on his nerves and he tried hard to work his hand between the counter and his own body. He started cursing again when Zeke’s hand grabbed his as he tried to jerk himself off. His hand was summarily slammed back onto the counter top.

“Mine, boy. You keep your hands right here,” Zeke punctuated the statement with a sharp thrust that had Myron go up on his toes. Zeke’s thumb was making large circles inside of him now, pulling at the rim of the muscle. “Like I said, not gonna fuck you just yet. Time’ll come for that later.” He withdrew his hand.

Myron moaned at the loss and laid his forehead against the cool tile of the counter top. He gave a yell when Zeke’s index finger slipped in, rubbing quick and hard over something inside of him that made small explosions of light go off behind his eyelids. “Fuckin’ killin’ me,” he ground out.

“‘Cause I can.” Zeke twisted his finger, pushing it in deeper. “‘Cause I want to. I like hearing ya beg. First time I saw you… I knew you would.” He rubbed the tip of his cock against the hole that was stretched around his finger, loving the double stimulation he was inflicting on Myron. “Stuck up, cherry LT. Pretty boy I knew I wanted to bend over and…” Zeke pulled out his finger slowly and gave Myron’s ass a quick smack. He loved that Myron fought him every bit of the way. He grabbed his cock, rubbing it firmly over Myron’s hole until he came in long spurts. He groaned as he rubbed it in, slick over the pulsing hole. “Make you mine.”

Myron was shuddering and breathing heavily beneath him. Zeke pulled away with shaky hands and knew the signs. Myron was close to that edge between falling apart and lashing out. Reaching out he pulled Myron away from the counter and manoeuvred him into his arms. With his hand on the back of Myron’s head, he pushed it down to lie on his shoulder. Kissing the top of Myron’s head, he whispered into the sweaty, spiky hair. “Love you so damn much. No shame in what we got.”

Myron sucked in a deep breath, willing himself to just let go of everything, to actually feel it. He knew he threw up walls to hide himself from everyone. They were there to keep him safe, to keep others out and away from what he was feeling. He hated that Zeke was learning how to sneak through them or take them out completely. He consciously let himself feel the emotion, no matter how intense it was. He was tired, sleepy. With a lot of effort he lifted his head, looking up into Zeke’s open face. He knew he was understood the moment that Zeke’s lips touched his in a soft kiss.

++++++

Johnny had been expecting the meet up to be rather bland and in some sterile side office. So when Brewster gave him directions to a house off base, he was a little bit shocked and yet strangely more at ease about the situation. He hadn’t expected to walk up and hear all the laughter coming from the backyard, not the smell of a barbeque going on. He was tentative at first, unsure of whether to knock on the front door or make his way to the back through the small side gate. What helped was having someone call out his name.

“Hey, McKay.”

Johnny looked over to the small front porch and saw shaggy blond hair sticking over the railing. He gave an internal mental shrug and darted over to the steps to find Doc sitting on the wooden floorboards of the porch, smoking a cigarette.

“Hi, Doc.” Johnny shoved his hands into his jeans and looked around. “Whatcha doin’ out here all by yourself?”

Doc held up the lit cigarette. “LT’s tryin’ to quit and it’s driving him slowly insane. Figured it best to stay out of his way with it.”

Nodding his head, Johnny took a seat on the steps, letting one leg stretch out as he leaned his head back against the railing. “So, what’s the overall consensus on me joining up with Team Viking?”

Doc laughed and shook his head, shaggy blond hair swinging across his eyes. “I don’t think so, man. I’m not telling you a damn thing. You’ll figure it out on your own. Besides, we all had to go through this whole initiation thing ourselves, kinda feel everyone out. No way am I depriving you of that honour, my friend.”

"Oh, if I'm your friend now? Then you should be inclined to help me out."

"There's a lot of things I'm not inclined to do." Doc looked at Johnny and smirked. He took a long drag from his cigarette and blew a few smoke rings. "And a lot of things I am inclined to do."

If Johnny hadn't known any better, he would have sworn that Doc was flirting with him. It threw him off momentarily, but then he thought that's probably exactly what Doc wanted. This was probably all part of poking fun at him. Well, if that was the case, then he could dish out as good as Doc could give. Johnny reached out and snagged the cigarette from Doc's fingers. He met Doc's gaze and drew the cigarette to his lips.

Doc's eyes widened a bit. "I didn't know you smoked, McKay."

"I don't." Johnny took another puff. "Only after a few beers."

Without missing a beat, Doc shot back, "I bet there's a lot of things you do after a few beers."

Johnny choked on the smoke and held it back out for Doc to take. "Um, yeah. Nasty habit. The girls don't like it."

Doc slipped the butt of the cigarette into an empty beer bottle by his feet. He licked his lips and smirked at Johnny again. "That, McKay, is a problem I don't have." He stood up, grabbing at the empty bottle. “You coming around back or what?”

Still reeling a bit from the turn of conversation, Johnny just nodded his head. When Doc slipped past him down the steps, their shoulders brushed for a moment. Giving himself a mental shake, Johnny started after the medic.

He was careful to shut the rusted gate behind him once he was through. Most of the guys were sitting in various states on or around a picnic table while Brewster worked the grill. He was unsure of what to do really, just stood there a moment taking it all in. When Brewster looked up at him, he gave a small smile and a nod before motioning him to come over.

Brewster handed Johnny a beer. "Boys, be nice to McKay. We don't want to frighten him off on his first official day as part of Team Viking."

"Oh, c'mon now, sir," Taylor hooted back. "Do we really have to be nice?"

Brewster seemed to consider it. "No, just hide the bodies after you're done."

"That what we like about you, sir," Ruiz said and raised his own beer to their commanding officer. Taylor and Ruiz were sitting side by side in lawn chairs, with their feet soaking in a kiddie pool. "And the free beer!"

"To free beer!" Taylor raised his beer and clinked it to Ruiz's.

"Free beer!" Ruiz shouted back.

There was a rousing chorus of laughter all the way around the group. “Hey newbie!” Johnny turned and watched as Percell held up a brown bottle. “Can’t have you standin’ around and breakin’ tradition! If you here, you must have beer! Rule number one!”

Doc was sitting next to him at the picnic table, closer than they should have been and it made Johnny’s brain go into overtime. The suddenly almost coy smile that he got from the medic was odd, especially when the man leaned even closer into Percell’s side. Johnny moved quickly, accepting the bottle and taking a long swig to quench his suddenly dry throat. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, except for Myron, who sat frowning as he picked at the label of his beer bottle. That tension was still there between the two of them, ever apparent in the way that Myron would throw a bit of conversation in without making eye contact with Johnny at all.

He wasn’t having much of a problem with anyone else, even Anderson included him on some of the funny stories that were going around. Taylor and Ruiz made a point to kick the water out of the pool at them. But Myron stayed pretty silent.

Johnny waited until Myron was standing alone in the shade by a tree. He waited until Zeke's attention was distracted by Brewster before he approached Myron. One thing that Johnny had learned quickly, even in this short time, was that Anderson was protective and always watching over Goldman. Sort of like a big 'ol junkyard dog that seemed friendly enough until you touched what was his.

"You have a problem with me, Goldman?"

Myron took a drink from his beer and glared at Johnny. "Yeah."

Johnny snorted and shook his head. "Not that I care. Brewster wants me on the team…"

"My team."

"His team. He wants me on his team. If there was anything you could do about that, I wouldn't be here." Johnny knew this probably wasn't the smartest thing he had done, but it needed to be said. "But, I'm here, so take that stick outta your ass and get used to it."

Myron choked on his beer, spitting some of it out before laughing. He leaned back against the tree, sputtering and trying to catch his breath between laughter only to have his face turn redder. Johnny frowned, wondering what in the hell he’d said to cause such a reaction in the usually uptight lieutenant.

“Oh, McKay, you have yet to see what I’m like when I’ve got a stick up my ass,” Myron chuckled, finally gaining some sense of composure. He wiped at the corners of his eyes before turning to look Johnny full on in the face. His eyes glittered in the flickering sunlight through the trees, giving him an almost feral look in the half-shade. “You just remember this and we’ll get along fine. I don’t like men out on a suicide run. We work as a team, no such thing as an individual when we’re out in the field. That includes hotshot chopper jocks with a need for speed and a good dose of adrenaline. You’ll be playing by my rules when we’re out there. You’d do best to keep that in mind.”

"Your rules, huh?"

"Yeah… my rules." Myron had looked up and noticed that Zeke had noticed Johnny was with him. All it took was one glance and Myron knew that Zeke was asking if he needed to come over. Myron fought the smile that threatened to come to his lips and shook his head. McKay and he had to work this out between themselves. "You going to have any problems working for me?"

"Yeah, I have a problem working for you…" Johnny saw Myron tense and waited a second before adding, "But, I have no problem working with you."

"You have one hell of an ego."

"You have one hell of an attitude problem."

"Says the man who would hump anything on two legs."

"What in the hell does that have to do with my ego?" When Myron just raised his eyebrow at the comment, Johnny sighed. "So what if I'm a lady's man?"

Myron shrugged and glanced up. Zeke had finished talking with Brewster and was watching him now. Myron felt a shiver go down his spine and wondered what Zeke was thinking. "There's certain types of men who end up in Team Viking. You fit that bill."

"And what type do you fall in, Goldman?"

Myron took another sip of his beer, holding the neck with just two fingers. Once he swallowed the bitter ale, he gave a shrug. “You’ve seen the files. We’ve all seen the files. I’m sure you’ve already decided what ‘type’ I am. Doesn’t really matter in the end anyhow. Here I am.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and watched as Anderson excused himself to walk over to where they were standing. Just the sheer size of the guy was enough to make you take a step back. Johnny had seen the fierce loyalty he had for his team, the pains he took to keep them all working efficiently as a unit. So to know that he was now a part of that really didn’t quell the sudden tension in his body as the man walked over to them. You wouldn’t have thought anything was wrong but Johnny could see the strain around Anderson’s eyes. Knew there was a warning in that look he got even if that soft smile tugged at his lips. Taking an unconscious step backwards, Johnny offered up a facsimile of a smile. “Sergeant.”

Zeke nodded at Johnny. "Lieutenant."

Johnny watched as Anderson stepped close to Goldman. He expected the man to bristle and glare at his sergeant, but rather Myron seemed to relax fractionally. This just confirmed what he thought. Anderson was the backbone of the team. He had been a mystery to Johnny as the only man who had been married. It went against what Team Viking looked for in a soldier. No strong ties outside of the team.

Johnny watched as Myron half smiled and took the fresh beer Anderson offered him. Their fingers touched and Goldman looked away. Johnny knew then that it wasn't just the army that Zeke was married to. He quickly took a long swig from his beer. It just wasn't normal. Anderson, Goldman, Hockenbury and Percell? His gaze moved over to Brewster, then to Ruiz and Taylor. Surely, he was imagining all this? They couldn't think that he was…

"You okay, McKay?" Zeke was looking at him oddly.

"Ah… yeah, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

“Gone a little ashen around the face, beer getting to you?” Anderson was practically leering at him.

Shaking his head he took a step back. “Just tired is all. Think I’ll go sit down for a bit, relax.”

“You do that,” was Goldman’s reply, small smile tickling at the corners of his mouth. “Get to know the rest of the team, that’s why you’re here anyway.”

He felt completely out of place now, unable to really focus on the strands of conversation floating around him. He kept watching for tells, waiting to see if all he thought was true. He didn’t say much, offered up the occasional laugh when Taylor supplied a funny story and gave the requisite nod when something was a bit more on the hard edged side. He was hyper aware of every movement, of every gesture.

Brewster gave the call for food and everyone was scrambling to the stack of paper plates set up near the grill. Hamburgers and hot dogs, and oh, good grief, now Johnny’s mind started playing with the whole “gay” platoon thing and the relevance of hot dogs. He quickly asked for a burger and moved out of the way to head for the small table set up with side dishes.

Johnny took a random scoop of potato, egg, and macaroni salads. The spread looked good and he wondered if that was a hint. There were no wives to cook. Gay guys could cook. He couldn't. He burnt water. Johnny walked over to a lawn chair set up on its own. He shovelled a big spoonful of egg salad into his mouth. When he bit down, there was a crunch as he bit into an eggshell. So, maybe one of them wasn't gay?

He knew some of the guys were giving him strange looks for sitting off by himself, but he had to process it all. When Doc wandered over with a loaded plate, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I thought you'd be a vegetarian."

Doc chuckled softly and shook his head. He had a plate with two hamburgers and a stack of pickles. "What do you want me to say, McKay? That I like meat?"

Johnny almost spat out a mouthful of potato salad. "Wha-"

"Calm down." Doc sat down on the grass next to Johnny. "You're freaking the guys out. They think you're a head case."

"I'm not, I just…" Johnny stopped and looked up. Percell was glaring at him. It reminded him of the way Zeke had given him a warning look, except this was just open hostility. "Why don't you go eat with Percell?"

"I don't want to." Doc took a large bite of his hamburger. With a still full mouth, he mumbled, "It's not what you're thinking."

"What are you…"

Doc swallowed and shook his head. "I'm not telling you anything."

Percell looked like he wanted to beat him with a lawn chair. Johnny swallowed nervously. "Ah…"

"You're not asking, either, are you?"

“No, no, definitely not,” Johnny answered, quickly shovelling another bite of potato salad into his mouth. “There are some things a man just doesn’t wanna know.”

Doc chuckled and reached for the beer at his feet. He turned his head enough to look over at Percell and grinned before turning back to Johnny. Percell had just crushed his Coke can in one hand. “So, read all the files?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Well, all but the last few mission reports anyway.” Johnny watched as Doc grimaced. “Not exactly light reading.”

“No, man, definitely not that,” Doc answered in a whisper. “Well, you enjoy your food.” Doc stood up and quickly moved away, clearly agitated, making alarm bells go off in Johnny’s head. He watched as the blond man sat down next to Percell, keeping his head ducked down even as he settled himself as close as possible to the larger man.

Brewster was the next to come over and Johnny wanted more beer. “Well, McKay. This went better than expected.”

“I don’t see how.” Percell looked like he wanted to kill him. Anderson wasn’t much better. He still thought Goldman was an ass. The whole team was probably gay, crazy, and couldn’t make a decent potato salad.

Brewster clapped Johnny on the shoulder. “I owe Anderson twenty bucks. I thought a fist fight would’ve broken out by now.”

Johnny wasn’t sure what to say to that. This was all just so damn overwhelming. “Who made the potato salad?”

Brewster’s chest puffed up with pride. “I did.”

Johnny didn’t know why, but he felt the need to laugh. His face pinched up as he tried to smother it down but still something of a hiccup managed its way out. Brewster frowned at him and it only made it worse. Trying hard to keep himself composed, he decided a quick run away was in order. “Uh, can you tell me where the bathroom is, sir?”

“Yeah, just go in the back door, through the kitchen and off to the right. You alright, McKay?”

“Fine, just need to let loose some of this beer is all.” He couldn’t help the stupid grin on his face as he made his getaway. He stood in the small room laughing crazily, wondering why in the hell everything was suddenly too funny for words. Tears streaming down his face and breath coming in hard hitches, he finally managed to get himself under control.

He made his way back out, noticing the lack of any real knickknacks or personal items throughout the place. He stepped outside into the middle of a rush. Food was quickly being packed away, the grill doused with water. He scrunched his face up and turned to find that Brewster was gone.

“What’s going on?”

Myron was on his cell phone and held his hand over the bottom half. “Mission, McKay. Briefing in twenty minutes.”

Johnny’s mind immediately turned to business. He thought of the beer and how it might affect his reflexes. “Will we have time to sober up?”

Myron seemed pleased in a way by the question. “Yes. You can ride with Percell and Doc since Percell didn’t drink.”

Johnny nodded, even though his stomach dropped at the idea of riding with Percell and Doc in a pickup truck. None of that mattered now. The mission came first and they were all professionals. “I’m in.”

It was true. Whatever this was now, he was in with these men. He would watch their backs and complete the mission by their sides. He might not like them, but that didn’t matter. They were family now. Johnny McKay had never been more excited or afraid in his life.

END.


End file.
